


Changes in the Night

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Series: The Marilyn Chronicles [1]
Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morse’s phone was ringing. This was hardly an unusual occurrence. Morse  set aside his book and stood with a grunt, walking over to pick up the phone. </p><p>“Morse.”</p><p>“Uncle?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes in the Night

Morse’s phone was ringing.

This was hardly an unusual occurrence. Years of being a policeman had taught him that the dead had no sense to die at the usual hours; calls could come in at any time, day or night.

Morse stirred. with a groan He must’ve fallen asleep again. He set aside his book and stood with a grunt, walking over to pick up the phone. “Morse.”

“Uncle?”

Morse started. “Marilyn?”

There was a pause. Morse could hear music thumping in the background, though it wasn’t anything he recognized. “Marilyn.” He prompted sternly, checking his watch. It was nearly midnight.

“Can you come get me?” Marilyn asked.

“Of course.” Morse replied. This was an uncommon occurrence, but if Marilyn was calling him and not her parents, it must’ve been serious. “What’s the address?”

Marilyn rattled off a house number in a residential neighborhood not far from her home and hung up. Morse slipped on his jacket and grabbed his keys.

When he got to the house, it was practically lit from within with bright lights. He wondered how many complaints had been filed already. If he felt up to having a bit of fun, he’d put his lights and siren on. But he wasn’t. He had always been slow to wake up, and the long drive through quiet, sleeping streets hadn’t helped.

After a minute or so, Marilyn emerged. She was wearing a pretty red dress that set off her blonde hair and hugged her slim figure. Morse did nothing more than glance. He didn’t want to sexualize his niece, even accidentally.

Even with the doors closed, he could hear the music thumping. When Marilyn opened the door, the sound of the music flooded in. It was not any music he recognized or liked.

Marilyn sat down heavily and curled her knees up to her chest after buckling herself in. She rested her chin on her knees and said nothing.

Morse sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Marilyn was silent.

“Home, then?” Morse asked.

“Not mine.” Was the response. 

Morse liked Marilyn’s voice. It was soft and muted, the voice of a habitual dreamer. He smiled and drove off. 

Morse left the residential areas and turned on his highbeams. Long stretches of road appeared out of the darkness, but he wasn’t lost. Morse had a good map of the area in his head, and even if he didn’t, he spent one summer of his youth driving his father’s taxi. He knew how to navigate unfamiliar streets, find the best route to places. He glanced over at Marilyn, who had uncurled and was staring wistfully out of the window. She was beautiful, but sad. Morse didn’t want her growing up with the heavy weight of sorrow and anger like he had.

“When did you eat last?” He asked.

Marilyn’s lips formed the ghost of a smile. “You sound like my mum.”

“Well, are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me deduce?”

Marilyn stayed silent. “Lunchtime. I don’t know.”

That wasn’t the response he wanted to hear. “Come on, there’s a chip shop near here. Does that interest you?”

Marilyn sighed. “Can we go to your house, please, uncle?” She sounded on the verge of tears. 

Morse decided not to press her. “All right.” He spent a few minutes building a mental map in his head before turning back towards the lights of sleeping Oxford.

As they were getting close, Marilyn shifted in her seat. “Uncle? Do you…” She paused, folding her hands on her lap. “Do you…think there’s something wrong with me?”

Morse chuckled. “No. Why?”

Marilyn shook her head, her loose hair falling over her shoulders in a careless way. “I’m…not normal.”

“Words like “normal” and “ordinary” are meant to describe situations, Marilyn,” Morse said as he pulled into his driveway, “not people.”

Marilyn unclicked her seatbelt as Morse turned off the car. “But I’m not like my friends.”

“Nobody is exactly the same.” Morse went around to open her door for her. “Not even in friendship groups, or families.”

Marilyn gave a faint smile again and took her uncle’s arm as they walked up to the house. “I mean, I have…different feelings.” She looked away, letting go as Morse unlocked the door. Then, she slipped inside before he could ask her what she meant.

“What do you mean?” He asked, slipping off his jacket in the hall.

“I…feel the same way about girls that you do.” Marilyn said quietly from the next room. Morse could hear her sorting through his records.

He stepped into the main room to find Marilyn looking at his old “Madama Butterfly” recording. “And you think that it’s wrong to feel that way?”

Marilyn nodded. “I can’t tell my parents about it. I can’t tell my friends. I can’t tell anyone.”

“Yet you’ve told me.” Morse said, stepping over towards her.

Marilyn set down the record carefully and turned quickly to hug her uncle tightly. Morse hugged back, a bit surprised. “Why did you tell me, Marilyn?” He asked.

“I…I don’t know,” Marilyn said tearfully. “Do you hate me now?”

“No,” Morse soothed, petting her hair comfortingly. “I could never hate you.”

Marilyn sniffled and turned to look up at Morse. “Not even after…after I told you that…”

“It’s not easy to be homosexual, Marilyn. But you can’t help who you love.” Morse handed her his hankie. “And there are plenty of men and women out there who feel the same.”

Marilyn sniffed. “I feel so alone sometimes.” She rested her head on his chest again. “I just want to fit in.” 

“I know,” Morse replied gently. “To be wise is to be alone.”

“I don’t want to be the way I am,” Marilyn said bitterly. 

“But you are.” Morse pulled her back to look her in the eye. “And you can’t change that. In fact, I don’t want you to change.” He smiled, and watched her smile back. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Marilyn wiped the last of her tears away. “Thanks, uncle. I love you.”  
“I love you, too.” Morse glanced at his watch. “It’s very late. Your parents will worry.”

Marilyn’s face fell. “Not really.”

“Nonsense.” Morse kissed her forehead. “Go and call them. Tell them you’re staying with me. I’ll drive you back in the morning.”

Marilyn bounced happily. “Thank you so much, Uncle Morse!” She hugged him tightly again.

Morse laughed. “Have mercy on my old bones! Now, go on. I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Marilyn smiled happily and ran off to ring her parents.


End file.
